


This Is Boring Oops

by taylor_tut



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker Angst, Panic Attacks, Strained Friendships, Strained Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29276352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: A request from my tumblr! Another panic attack-based fic lol whoops the people want what they want i guess. anyway this time it's tim.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	This Is Boring Oops

In through the nose, out through the mouth. 

Does it matter? If he's not getting any air, does it matter? Tim's therapist swears it does; swears that the intake of air isn't the problem and that once he slows his breathing down, that he'll feel less lightheaded. Evidence backs it up, too--no matter how many times his brain tells him in these moments that he's dying, he always survives.

Irrelevant. This time it's true. He's dying. 

His heart is racing, fluttering around in his chest like it wants out, a trapped bird hitting its wings up against his chest wall in the warm darkness of his empty, hollow rib cage--

"Tim?" a voice calls. Timid, trepidatious. Martin? 

"Go away," Tim manages. The door of the storage room cracks a sliver, and a stream of light pours into the room. 

"No." 

Jon. That's--Jon's voice? 

"Fuck off." 

Jon shuts the door, but unfortunately, Tim is pretty sure he's still on this side of it. 

"You need to calm down." 

"I fucking--I'm not--God, you piss me off--" 

"No, I know," Jon scrambles, "I don't mean--I know you can't control it." 

Tim's eyes, angry and now alight with the added flame of pure fury so aggressive it gives him vertigo, flash to Jon, and he flinches. 

"How did you know that?" 

Jon frowns. "You know how."

Tim takes another shuddering breath, the adrenaline from the anger now spiraling the panic all over again and setting him off hyperventilating. 

Jon sits beside him and Tim doesn't have the breath to tell him to leave him alone again. 

"Name five things you can see." 

"Jon--"

"Just--trust me. 

Tim snorts. 

"Right." 

"Then humor me, for God's sake. I'm not leaving until you do. Something you see." 

"The wall." 

"Good. And?" 

Tim glances down at his hands, which are trembling and scarred but there, still; not bleeding or bruised or coated in dirt. "My hands." 

"Yeah. Another?" 

"The table. The chair." 

"One more."

"You." 

Jon nods. Tim takes a breath that makes it all the way to the bottoms of his lungs. 

He sees Jon and Jon Sees Him. So Tim closes his eyes and pretends he doesn't notice Jon's fingers reaching out to his own to ground him in the moment, pretends that ignoring and tolerating Jon's presence aren't the same thing. 

And he lets himself breathe.


End file.
